Danger in the Mist
by DdraigCoch
Summary: Will/Bran. Will comes back to Wales in mid winter. R&R please!!


Title: Danger in the Mist.  
  
Author: DdC  
  
Fandom: The Dark is Rising  
  
Pairing: Will/Bran  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Will, Bran or anything else that was mentioned   
  
Summery: Will arrives at the farm where Bran lives in the middle of a snow storm. Of course, being an old one, he can't be going for just any reason. He's going to pay his debt.  
  
Note: This was written for the contrelamontre 45 minutes 'White' challenge. My first timed challenge, I hope I pass the grade. I appologise for my spelling, It's terrible and the spell check refused to work.  
  
In the summer the mountains of north Wales are green. Most of the country is green. But not now. Not in winter. In winter everything is white. And as my aunt Jen told me one morning when I stayed with her, the white around there was dangerous. you could ask me why the white was so dangerous on those steep slopes, and I'd tell you. I'd tell you that at the beginning of winter the fog decends from the mountain tops for a whole day, so you can't see an inch in front of your face, you start to think that perhaps you're floating, or that the Milgwm could jump up and tear your leg to shreds before you had a chance to scream. I'd tell you that in the deep winter, snow decends and freezes, slicking the roads so that you can't even cross the farmyard without becoming concussed, or that werestones could bind you, hidden in the drift. I'd tell you that at the end of winter, the mist rises from the rivers at midnight and leaves at mid day, cold against your skin, leaving you with a head cold and the shivers, or the Tylwyth Teg could steal away your baby sibling in the night before the gates to the other world close.  
  
Yes, white is the colour of danger in these hills, especially at this time of year. This area is not under the protection of the Light or the tyranny of the Dark. It's under His protection, Bran Davis, Bran Pendragon, Bran ap Arthur. And for me, he is the most dangerous of all, the albino prince of the High Magic, although he doesn't remember it. He still weilds his power to protect this valley, I can feel it, a cold prickle up the back of my neck as I approach the farmhand's house. Through the fog, mist and snow I can see the lights burning in the window, beckoning me there, to him.  
  
I don't know why He called me here, I don't know why I answered, but for the last seven years his name burned a brand in my heart. I saw his too-white skin covered in goose bumps, I saw his fine white hair falling about his shoulders, longer than it had been when I saw him last, I saw the familiar scowl on his face, showing perfect white teeth, I saw him dressed in the one colour he always refused to wear. White.   
  
I hated prophecies in that moment. Dispised them, because I two other things. I saw his sword blazing above his head as he swung it down towards...me. I saw my White Prince about to kill me. It broke my heart.  
  
But I still toil across the yard, hoping that I won't slip, hoping I won't get lost, hoping that frostbite won't claim my fingers before I get the chance to run them through his hair at least once. A door opens, and He stands there, full grown now and lanky. He is just as he was in my dream, approaching me with Erias blazing and held high, bathing him in white light that's almost blinding, but I can still see the scowl on his face, the hard planes of his face. I've fallen to the floor, the snow is soaking through my jeans, but I can't take my eyes from the alabaster god above me. "B-Bran." I manage, fear filling me, cresting, followed by acceptance. Whiteness isn't purity, it isn't innocence. It's ruthlessness, it's cold, it's faintly frightening. It drives you mad. It shows all your faults. And in letting my charm wane to the point where he remembers what he chose to forget, is one of my worst.   
  
I cower. I admit it. I cower before him, waiting for the killing blow, waiting for the white hot of his rage to decend and take the retribution that's rightfully his. In this moment my only regret is that I've never kissed him.  
  
"Get up Sign-Seeker." He yells, his voice shaking the core of me because he is laughing. A deep almost booming laugh, and he is laughing at me. "Get up, Will." And I do, because he is commanding it of me. When he presses his lips to mine, I almost fall again, but his cool arm stops it from happening. He's still scowling, but I realize it's from the cold, not anger. "Croeso Gatref, Dewin Dwp."* and he pulls me inside, out of one all consuming whiteness where you can't see, can't orientate yourself, and into another. Happiness flows through me because this whiteness, though no less magical than the mist, fog and snow of the mountains, this whiteness, is safe.  
  
*Welcome home, daft Wizard 


End file.
